


Not with Discourtesy

by vulpineRaconteur



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Bathing, F/F, Hair touching, canon-typical ridiculous dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpineRaconteur/pseuds/vulpineRaconteur
Summary: Two women doomed to fulfill their duties find a brief peace together.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [13lackbirds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13lackbirds/gifts).



_“Treat the Fire Keeper not with discourtesy. She is much like thee. Prisoners, both, kept to link the fire."_

~~

“Welcome home, Ashen One.”

She looks up, dizzy as always from her passage between the bonfires, and sees the Fire Keeper. She is where she always is, waiting, so patiently, to be called on, to be needed. The Ashen One feels the familiar calm spread through her chest, and manages to smile--for the first time in who knows how long--when she sees her.

Her heavy plate clanks as she approaches the Fire Keeper, her heart teeming with souls eager for direction. The Fire Keeper tilts up her head, unable to see her, but seeking her face all the same. She speaks the words she always speaks, like the lines of a ritual, which they could be, for all the Ashen One knows.

“Speak thine heart’s desire.”

“If it please you,” the Ashen One says as she kneels, voice cracked from disuse, “I would strengthen myself.”

“Very well,” the Fire Keeper replies, and the slightest smile curves her lips. “Then touch the darkness within me, and take nourishment from these sovereignless souls.”

The deed done, with the warmth and the weight of new souls within her, the Ashen One stands. On several occasions in the past, after days on end at the mercy of Lothric’s horrors, the Fire Keeper took the Ashen One by the hand and lead her to a private chamber below the shrine. The Fire Keeper’s own chamber. Once there, the Fire Keeper helped her out of her armor, carded fingers through her filthy hair, and bathed her in a tub of hot water. It was a meager thing, but it felt to the Ashen One like the height of extravagance, not to speak of the heart-piercing comfort of having another’s hands on her in kindness.

She wonders now if the Fire Keeper might have such in mind today, and observes her closely, searching for a hint that it might be. She notices troublesome things: her cloak is set unevenly on her shoulders, her beautiful hands twist together, and there is an unusual tightness to her smile. She seems...worn.

“I have prepared a bath,” the Fire Keeper says, “if thou wish’st to come to my chambers.”

“Yes,” the Ashen One says, “of course. Lead the way.”

Despite her blindness, she takes them to her own chamber with confidence. The entrance, off the balcony overlooking dear Irina, is entirely invisible, because the Fire Keeper does not need to see it. She presses a fingertip in the right place, and what seemed a wall swings inward, to a pitch dark stairwell. The Fire Keeper takes the Ashen One’s hand and leads her patiently down the steps. It takes trust that she’s almost forgotten how to have to be guided in this way, to leave her path to another.

The chamber below is torchlit, for the Ashen One’s benefit. There is an armor stand as well, and without much delay, the Fire Keeper turns and begins removing her armor. It’s almost as much a ritual as the words surrounding the binding of souls, her actions as precise and deliberate. When the last plate is set aside, her fingers reach for the ties of the Ashen One’s clothes, but hands catch her wrists.

The Ashen One cannot help the coarseness of her voice when she asks “Are you well, Fire Keeper?”

She lets the Fire Keeper take back her hands, which return to their twisting. “I am not...unwell.”

The Ashen One speaks quietly “Are you not?”

A frown tilts her lips. “I am here to serve thee, Ashen One, and my needs art nothing set next to thine, and should not concern thee.”

“But they do.” The Ashen One takes one of her hands in hers and rubs gently at the palm with her thumb. “Let me care for you, as you’ve cared for me.”

“I--the bath is meant for _thou_ \--”

“And I do not doubt,” she interrupts, “that I need it. But it would please me greatly to trade roles in this, so if it please you: let me.”

The Ashen One can feel the Fire Keeper’s heartbeat even in her hand. “It would please me.”

She begins by unfastening the uneven cloak. This she sets aside on the modest bed, then reaches for the belt, both of them anxious with the intimacy of that touch. The Ashen One thinks it strange, as the Fire Keeper turns so she may undo the buttons down her back, that this should be so much more intimate than their previous baths. The Ashen One is so accustomed to her body being ruined and restored, the sensation of touch, even when friendly, does not shock her. But when was the Fire Keeper last touched by another? When did she last have another’s hand upon her?

She leads the Fire Keeper to the bath, steadies her as she steps in, sighs in appreciation. The Ashen One seats herself on a stool behind the bath and begins to unravel the Fire Keeper’s braid. She pulls her fingers through it, taking no small pleasure in the act. The scent of her hair makes the Ashen One light-headed, and for a moment she silently strokes it, reveling in the feeling.

“Ashen One,” the Fire Keeper says, extracting her from her reverie. “What is thy name?

The Ashen One cannot remember the last time she was asked that question. “Eilda,” she says softly as she twists the Fire Keeper’s hair and pins it loosely on top of her head.

“I do not know my name,” the Fire Keeper says. “I lost many things, when I became a Fire Keeper, my name least among them.” She shifts in place and slips deeper into the water. “But I am glad to know thine.”

“I think,” Eilda says, as she moves her stool around and settles beside the Fire Keeper, “you are the only one left who does.” She picks up one of the Fire Keepers hands, fingers long and ash-stained. With a soft, wet brush, she scrubs the ash away.

“I am pleased, then, that I might hold that honor.” She pauses. “Perhaps thou think’st it selfish of me.”

“I just might.” Eilda lays one soft kiss on the palm of her hand, sending a shiver through her. “But you, of all people, deserve to be.”

The Fire Keeper’s lips are parted, and Eilda can’t stop staring at them. “Might I be more selfish, and ask...for thine lips upon mine?”

Eilda breathes out a laugh. She kneels closer to the Fire Keeper, drawing their faces close. “If that be what you consider selfish, then I hope you are selfish more often.”

They kiss, the weight of their duties slipping away for one selfish moment.


End file.
